


The case of Ivar R. Lothbrok

by bjorn_ironside



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Biting, Borderline Personality Disorder, Crime Scenes, Death, Desk Sex, Doctor/Patient, Falling In Love, Heahmund doesn't know what to do, Heahmund the doctor, Ivar is a murderer, Ivar is mentally ill, Love Bites, Love Confessions, M/M, Mating Bites, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Multiple Personalities, Murder, Past Abuse, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, based on a real case, but a bit different, this might end bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29314446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjorn_ironside/pseuds/bjorn_ironside
Summary: As a psychologist in the field of personality disorders and murder, Heahmund sees and experiences a lot. The broken souls and the damaged head of people are his daily life and job. But when one day "the monster with the ice-cold eyes" sits in front of his desk, Heahmund goes on a deep journey full of feelings and experiences. And he has no idea how deep these events will go...
Relationships: Heahmund & Ivar (Vikings), Heahmund/Ivar (Vikings)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 31





	1. Page 1 - Investigation.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this came to my mind a longer time ago when I had this flashback on one case that actually happened in my close area. I changed it, of course - but I thought it was something different, especially dealing with mental disorders and seeing Heahmund as doctor, who is once not deep in love with his church. ;) 
> 
> I hope that you like this idea! Love you guys, have fun reading. <3
> 
> P.S.: If you like to, I'll put some small facts about psychological themes in the end, if you might not know a word. But I know you guys are super smart. :)

* * *

With a soft sigh and the low creak of the chair in his ear, Heahmund leaned back in the office chair; his hand ran almost slowly through his dark hair, and for a moment he just enjoyed the oppressive silence that prevailed in the office.

It was getting late and he could actually have left by now. But there was no such thing as a fixed evening in his job, especially not when it came to important things.

Up until now Heahmund had not touched the thick and slightly damaged-looking file that had been placed on the table for him yesterday; the respect for it was still too big. Because once he would open this file, he would be faced with weeks, if not months, of work. He could already count the overtime in his head.

Nevertheless, any postponement was of no use anymore - he had to devote himself to this matter. It should actually be an honor for him, and also _feel_ like an honor, that the director of the institute had contacted him specifically. _Because of his excellence work in psychology and research on personality disorders in offenders_ , the director had said; his confused eyes behind the much too thick glasses had wandered almost aimlessly around the room, and Heahmund immediately recognized that he meant his compliments seriously - but that no one else wanted to devote himself to the case. And so, it stuck with him.

Heahmund let out a deep sigh and pulled himself closer to the table with both of his forearms; only then did his hands reach for the thick file. Heahmund had already seen a lot of cruel things in his career, had had many terrifying people in front of his table. Murderers, sex offenders, crimes that could hardly be surpassed in cruelty.

And yet, the case of _Ivar R. Lothbrok_ had become known to him before due to the violent media hype. A young man, less than 25 years old, is said to have committed one of the most terrible series of murders in the last ten years. In the media they called him " _the monster with the cold eyes_ ". Heahmund usually despised the junk press; it was a thorn in his side that the media pounced like wild wolves on any sensation, and only aroused the fear and hatred of people with more agitation - but in this case, well. Heahmund could understand the hype a little bit.

_He is said to have strangled and killed a young person and inflicted numerous stab wounds on the almost lifeless body. Then he fled; the young man had bragged about his deed in the DarkNet. Despite the highest security measures in the area, he was in hiding for two days at a friend's house - whom he then killed, when the latter had heard about the crime and the arrest warrant through the media - and then set his apartment on fire. Only then did the young man with the unusual name go to a nearby diner, ordered something to eat there and casually mentioned, that they should call the police because they were looking for him anyway. He was arrested less than 15 minutes later. And then placed in psychiatric security custody because they had assumed a mental illness; because such a cold hearted crime was not exactly common._

And Heahmund should now prepare an opinion for the court, on which basis it should be decided whether there would be a normal prison sentence for the young man or the preventive detention in a closed institution.

Heahmund opened the file with one smooth movement; as always, the first thing that appeared in front of him was the patient's picture, along with the roughest data.

Heahmund glanced over the data; 24 years old, hardly any abnormalities apart from high absenteeism in school and no trainee before the crime. Grew up in one of the poorer neighborhoods in the area, also known as the “ _working-class neighborhood_ ”. Did not show any emotion or remorse when arrested, and spat at another police officer when arrested.

When Heahmund's eyes slid slowly over the picture that had been right taken after the arrest at the police station, he did see indeed steel-blue, cold eyes, and a slight smile at the corner of his mouth did indeed indicate that _repentance_ seemed to be a foreign word to the boy. His features were extremely distinctive, yet delicate, and there were hardly any crooked or uneven spots; except for the coolness of his eyes, Heahmund would have thought of him as a very attractive young man. But the horror in the foreground immediately destroyed this sensation.

Heahmund’s gaze flew to the next page which he opened; it began by describing the circumstances of the crime. When Heahmund put his thumb on the pages and let them flutter roughly, he saw that there were at least 120 pages. Only from what happened that night.

He rolled his eyes slightly and closed the file again.

He ran his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and let out a low gasp; it would be more than overtime, that was certain. Since he had to examine the boy for the first time tomorrow, he had no choice but to take the files home and read them there, in order to get at least a rough overview for tomorrow's first session.

And so, he did. On the way back to his apartment, he took something with him from a snack bar, as he had once again failed to eat properly today; but no one had noticed that he had lost a bit of weight lately.

With his meager meal and the file, he later made himself comfortable on the sofa; the TV was on in the background, the news, _chaos everywhere_ , while Heahmund tackled the case and finally detached himself to eat something.

It was a long night.

The clock ticked softly in the background, evenly and wonderfully in time like a metronome. Heahmund had turned in the direction of this clock with his eyes closed and was waiting; it was around noon and the first session was about to begin. The gray eyes opened slowly; the ticking sound of the clock increased slightly, as if he had just awakened from a shallow daydream. The gold pointer of the noble watch went steadily ahead, regardless of the things that would be soon discussed here in this room.

Heahmund has always found it strange, in the way that, despite all the atrocities in this world, time just kept running.

That it did not stop when people died cruelly through the hands of other people, that the breath of life, the very last one, was mostly lost in a wave of a few minutes.

The sound of the door pulled him out of his lethargy. It was Susan, his assistant, who looked at him pale through the door.

"He's about to be here, the guards are bringing him in.", she said softly, and nodded when Heahmund turned to her with the chair and smiled slightly.

"Thank you, Susan."

She disappeared out the door; and indeed, moments later, two taller men brought the boy inside.

They held him by the upper arms, even though his hands were handcuffed in front; Heahmund recognized the dark, slightly longer hair and the undercut on both sides of the head immediately.

With one rough movement the men seated the boy on the chair opposite Heahmund; they stopped behind it, and Heahmund looked up.

"Oh, it's okay if you go," he said softly and with a smile; the guards looked at each other.

"But, Dr. Meyers- "

"It's all right. If it calms you down, you can wait in front of the door."

The two guards looked at each other briefly, but then nodded and left the room. It was only when the door slammed shut, that Heahmund glanced at the famous boy in front of him.

He hesitated a little; he blinked briefly, but then nodded slightly. "Hello, Mr. Lothbrok," he said gently; he knew that patients always felt most comfortable when they were treated kindly and politely. Heahmund tried to hide some of his astonishment in this sentence - because this man in front of him looked different from the man who had grinned maliciously in the photo of the arrest.

Ivar Lothbrok sat almost shyly in the chair opposite Heahmund; his handcuffed arms trembled slightly, as if he were extremely tense inside; the gaze of the steel-blue eyes darted across the room, seemed almost uncertain, before those eyes turned to Heahmund with soft reserve.

"You... - you are the doctor, aren't you?" he asked; his voice was soft and not exactly like the voice of someone who had spat on a police officer when he had been arrested. Heahmund frowned for a moment, then leaned back in the chair and smiled.

“I'm _a_ doctor, yes, but not _the_ doctor. I will not harm you! In this room, there is only you and me, and no one else who listens to us. You don't need to be afraid.”, Heahmund replied professionally; he had faced many distraught murderers who had been afraid of "the doctor". Probably the old basic belief in insane asylums, electricity therapy and lobotomies were still stuck in many people's minds.

The scariest images of the nation when it came to psychology.

Young Ivar inclined his head a little; he looked pale and worn out, as if he hadn't really slept the last few nights. A small, fine wound adorned his right cheek; Heahmund knew from the file that this was where the young woman had scratched his face with bare nails as she had fought with her terrifying death.

The wound was still slightly red, and it almost looked as if Ivar had scratched it, because Heahmund could see traces of fresh blood.

The young man licked his lip briefly; the blue eyes didn't look dangerous, and they kept looking for other points than Heahmund’s face to stare at. In the end he looked down at his handcuffed hands; they trembled slightly.

“But I know what kind of doctor you are. And what you'll do to me when I tell you everything.”, Ivar said softly; he did not raise his eyes.

Heahmund waited a moment; with a barely visible, very quiet movement, he lifted the cover of the adjoining file again to look at the photo of the arrest; then his eyes slid back to the same boy who sat in front of him like a broken child. It was almost like Ivar had been on drugs when he was arrested. But none had been found when his blood was taken.

"Well, Ivar, I think you know what you're here for."

The blue eyes looked briefly at Heahmund, then they slid up to the ceiling; Heahmund saw how Ivar blinked slightly and seemed to be wrestling with something for a moment, before he fixed his gaze uncertainly on Heahmund again.

Heahmund took his pen and made two brief notes. _Drug consumption? Trauma?_ he wrote, underlining the word _trauma_ twice. Then he looked back at Ivar.

“I - I… I didn't do that. I woke up in a cell one morning and didn't know where I was... and why.", Ivar stammered softly; his voice cracked slightly at the end, and he wiped his face briefly with his tied hands. Heahmund continued to look at him; _typical repression_ , he thought, and put on a soft smile.

“It is typical that many people forget some things through a traumatic experience and cannot remember anything. That is quite normal, Mr. Lothbrok."

"Please call me Ivar, otherwise I feel so old." Ivar said softly; the blue eyes were fixed on Heahmund now, albeit with a slightly depressed expression. The boy's forehead was wrinkled slightly; almost as if something was hurting him inside.

Heahmund returned the boy's gaze firmly, and still wore the smile on his face.

"That’s alright. Then I'll call you Ivar from now on. You know, here in this room, you shouldn't see me as an enemy, because I'm not. I am here to help you clearing this confusion in your head. We have a lot of things to talk about and we have a lot of time for them. Only I have one thing to ask of you, Ivar. And that's honesty. Because no lie in the world can help you here.", Heahmund explained to him. Even as he uttered the words, Ivar’s eyes filled with tears; they almost made the blue of the eyes shine.

After another, unwanted blink, Ivar nodded slightly, and a terrible sob ran through his throat. He wiped his hand gently over his face again before turning his gaze back to Heahmund.

"Please help me. I don't know what to do! I can't remember anything from the night, nothing at all! It's almost as if I was drunk."

Heahmund kept taking notes as inconspicuously as possible; he noticed that Ivar looked incredibly fragile in the handcuffs, and that his eyes kept flitting nervously to the door. He could understand the boy's inner panic; however, it could also be that he had an incredibly good actor in front of him, hoping to get on with the pity tour. But not with Heahmund.

“This feeling can come from either a mental disorder or drug abuse. Tell me a little bit about yourself, Ivar. What do you do in your free time?”, Heahmund asked kindly; he nodded slightly to Ivar, and the boy bit his full lower lip lightly.

For a moment there was the oppressive, cool silence that often spread during such conversations; Heahmund sometimes called it _the calm before the storm_.

“I'm not originally from this country. My family moved here years ago when I was very young. I have four older brothers. One of them, Björn, he's in jail.” Heahmund wrote down inconspicuously, but nodded to encourage Ivar to continue.

"We were never rich, my dad is not a doctor like you."

"Rich? How do you think I'm rich?” Heahmund asked; he raised a dark eyebrow and looked hard at Ivar. Ivar returned the look briefly; then he nodded in the direction of Heahmund’s white shirt.

"Your shirt. It's high quality, one can see it right away. You are also wearing a certain, high class perfume, which suggests it. I stole it once when I was younger. It's from Hugo Boss, isn't it?"

Heahmund paused for a moment; he tried to smell his own scent as inconspicuously as possible, but he didn't get very far. So, he just put on a slight smile.

“That's even true. So, you did steal something in the past?"

Ivar looked at his fingers and swallowed; a faint, barely noticeable red crept onto his cheeks, and he nodded slightly. "Yes, very early. When I was very young."

"Why did you do that? Do you remember it?"

Something strangely rudimentary shot through Ivar’s blue eyes for a moment; it was almost like a tiny shadow, like an inward movement. Then Ivar lifted his chin slightly and said: "I don't know anymore."

“That's not bad either. Tell me more."

"My dad, he... - well, he couldn't find a job in this area, so he was always home. He started drinking, and that's why I was often outside."

Ivar looked strangely dull when he related this; Heahmund scribbled down a few more notes before meeting Ivar’s eyes.

"What did you do outside? Played with your brothers?"

Ivar bit his lip softly, then shifted unsteadily on the chair. "I don't want to talk about it," he uttered softly; Heahmund put down his pen and cleared his throat. The boy's gaze slid back to him, uncertain, almost questioning.

“You know, Ivar, that's not bad. If bad things have happened in the past, we never like to talk about them. But you have to believe me when I tell you that I really just want to help you. I am neither a judge nor a lawyer; I can't decide here. But you can help me by allowing me a look into your soul. It doesn't have to be your whole life. And if you want to, we can talk about it another time. But I need to know what happened. Why all these cruel things happened." Heahmund spoke softly and gently, but firmly - nevertheless a slight tremor spread in Ivar’s lower lip, and the boy shifted a little restlessly on the chair again. The handcuffs on his hands clinked slightly as he moved.

The clock in the background ticked softly as Ivar was still wrestling with his answer. The boy's lips were almost pale, and with a soft movement, he leaned closer to Heahmund.

Heahmund did not flinch; he kept a watchful eye on the boy, and even leaned towards him as well a little bit.

The soft, white clothes that all patients in the closed ward were given and had to wear, smelled fresh of cotton.

"Help me." Ivar uttered; his tone was almost hissing and suddenly his eyes looked almost panicked.

"I'm only here to help you."

“Make it stop. I don't want to be in pain anymore!”, Ivar whimpered; his eyebrows narrowed and with a gentle movement he slid back into the chair.

Heahmund inconspicuously pressed the button that was hidden under his desk; it was there to call the guards, and moments later they came in.

"We'll continue talking tomorrow, I think that was enough for today," Heahmund said; he had seen exactly that the boy had been shortly before a collapse, and like this he could not get close to his patients psychologically. He had to be clever here; the boy apparently wasn't stupid.

_He's playing a game._

The guards lifted the trembling Ivar up again by the upper arms; the boy gave Heahmund an uncertain look.

"Thank you, Doctor," he uttered before the men carried him out of sight. The men who carried him looked disgusted; Heahmund, however, stared after the boy until he disappeared out the door.

Just moments later, Susan entered.

“He's a monster, isn't he? Have you seen the way he is acting here? Manfred says he rioted last night and wanted to attack other patients. So they had to fix him to his bed.”, she said, and from her expression Heahmund could see that she was disturbed. She gripped both of her upper arms with her hands as if she were cold; only then did she look at Heahmund.

"What do you think of that, Dr. Meyers?"

Heahmund thought for a moment; he was staring openly at the chair on which Ivar, a broken and frightened boy, had just sat moments before. Then he lifted the lid of the file again, and the cheeky grinning and angry face from the police photo stared at him sarcastically.

“I don't know, Susan. But I think this boy might be playing with us all. Because as he showed himself here today, _this fragile boy_ , he wasn't the killer in terms of his head. I think there might be a deep mental disorder in him. Tell me, the wound on his cheek - did he scratch it?"

"Yes, the nurse said he tried to tear it up."

"Hm... Either this boy is seriously ill or he's doing the greatest act of all time. Is it possible to get his family's files? Like police files? I have to dig a little in the past to find out something. I don't think he'll tell me everything."

“Of course, doctor. Until when do you need them?"

Heahmund smiled slightly. “Preferably yesterday. I would like to have them by tomorrow at the latest."

"With pleasure."

As Susan left the room, Heahmund stared at the figure of a miniature head on which all areas of the brain had been drawn; he had received it from his father when he had graduated, who had been so proud at this time and still spoke today of nothing but Heahmund’s successes as a psychologist.

"What do you have to hide..." he muttered first to the head, and then to the photo of Ivar, who was still staring at him with ice-cold eyes from the photo; a shiver ran down his spine when he thought about the fact that this young man had not only strangled a woman, but had also murdered and set his best friend on fire.

With a slow movement, he got up and went to his bookcase; he searched for a moment, then took out the thick cover he had been looking for and two more books.

_Borderline Disorder, Past Traumas, Personality Disorder._

His night reading was secured.

* * *


	2. Page 2 - A first step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your feedback guys, it motivated me so much to go one! And this theme is so interesting, really. :)  
> I hope you still like the new chapter! I have no idea where the story will lead us - the topic is so huge. :D  
> When you are interested in the different topic related words I used, look down below. :)

* * *

The big gulp of red wine Heahmund drank with his eyes closed was heavy on his tongue. He squeezed his eyes tight, held the sip in his mouth for a moment; until the wine tasted almost bitter. Only then did he swallow and let out a soft exhale.

It wasn't as if he had never come into contact with anything terrible during his career as a psychologist - on the contrary. He'd seen serial killers, pedophiles, cruel sadists, and even people addicted to necrophilia. All tormented souls, and Heahmund had painstakingly taken apart and analyzed their inner ailments in order to ultimately find a suitable therapy. But these people were all older than him - _Ivar_.

With one rough movement Heahmund ran his hand over the sheet of paper in front of him that he was still reading; he was still absorbed in the description of the case, in the many small details that were included in the crime. And just before the bitter sip of wine, he had looked at the photos that had been taken from the DarkNet as evidence. According to police, Ivar had posted them himself. The IP address was identical to the PC and cell phone found from him.

Heahmund swallowed; then he looked at the pictures a second time.

One of them showed Ivar taking a selfie; he had leaned the blood-smeared, stabbed corpse of the young woman against his shoulder like a doll, his sparkling white teeth twisted into a smile, and his blue eyes radiated a cruelty that Heahmund was not used to at such an age. He leaned a little closer to the colorful picture to examine Ivar’s features. _They were real_. The smile was real, because the corners of his mouth showed the typical smile lines of a malicious face; the angry twinkle in the light blue eyes was real. A little bit of the corpse's bright red blood was clinging to his cheek - the deep scratch he had seen in the first session was fresh. Goosebumps ran down Heahmund’s body when he thought of how hard the woman’s nails must have torn into his cheek out of sheer fear of death. It was hard to imagine that Ivar had simply moved on, dull like a stone.

But the blonde woman was already dead there. One could see the marks caused by the phone cord that Ivar must have used to strangle her around the neck.

The next few pictures were no better, and although Heahmund had scanned them shortly before, he looked at them again. Pictures of the dead woman on the floor with more than twenty knife wounds on her torso. In another picture, Ivar had the bloody knife close to his mouth and licked the blade softly and long with his tongue sticking out. He looked proud, proud of his crime against this woman. It's not for nothing that people take selfies with a corpse and then put them online in a hidden forum where others could see them. It almost seemed as if the boy had consciously sought and wanted this attention.

And gotten.

The media interest in this case was enormous. It took one’s breath away that the young man had so obviously bragged about what he had done. Heahmund pulled his notepad closer and made a note: _Sadistic disposition_.

He bit his pen lightly; he didn't think Ivar was basically a sadist. Even if these pictures were more than evidence of a perverse pleasure in killing.

With a deep exhalation, Heahmund pushed the page with the colored pictures aside, not without taking another look at Ivar’s massive grin. The sharp canines looked almost creepy with the little blood on his face.

Ivar had uploaded the pictures to a site that was frequently used on DarkNet, just a few minutes after the happening. Apparently, he had some anonymous friends there, at least that's what Heahmund read from the few chat lines that the Criminal Police managed to secure thanks to the people who reported the case and saved it.

**_The_BoneLess:_ ** _I did it. What a mess. She bled like a pig._

**_Xxy_768:_ ** _Show me! You're just talking. Spitting big as always._

**_The_BoneLess:_ ** _[picture]_

_[picture]_

_[picture]_

_Open your damn mouth ever again, look._

**_Xxy_768:_ ** _Fuck, you are crazy…_

**_XenonLitzzz:_ ** _freak!_

**_HatredOnline666:_ ** _ten bucks if you lick the knife._

**_The_BoneLess:_ ** _[picture]_

_Her blood is so sweet._

**_Xxy_768:_ ** _Shit man, this is real!_

**_HatredOnline666:_ ** _Of course, he's a psycho._

It had been very serious. Heahmund was actually grateful that, despite the great anonymity, there were still people on the DarkNet who reported such things and did not enjoy them like many others in the dark.

Otherwise, this would have been lost in the countless analogies of the dark networks. Ivar had used the 4chain platform.

With a sigh, Heahmund pushed his reading glasses off his nose and tiredly ran his hands over his face; a look at the clock revealed that it was past midnight. He had been sitting on the file for a long time, making as many notes as possible. But the pictures and the description of the crime were clear: Ivar had committed the crime. Unless he had an identical twin, and that was out of the question. His fingerprints had been checked and matched those on the knife and dead body.

But why had a young person been put in front of him at the meeting today who did not fit these brutal images at all?

Any second-rate psychologist would have guessed that Ivar - like so many patients - played stupid and went on the pitying tour.

But not Heahmund. It was not for nothing that he had achieved his framed diplomas, his well-known doctoral degree, if only he had always assumed guesswork. _Guesswork was blinding important details out._

And Heahmund couldn't ignore the cry for help Ivar had whispered to him. Because it was extremely difficult to play a sadness built on lies and that searching look of the eyes.

He thought of the wound on his cheek; Ivar had tried to scratch it according to statements from the staff. Maybe there was a borderline disorder; Heahmund suspected that something serious had happened in his childhood that Ivar had wanted to compensate with this suffering and this act. Maybe he had been a victim of bullying, even if he didn't seem to look like that.

Heahmund reached out to the living room table with one fluid movement; there, next to the glass of wine and the half-empty bottle, were the three books he had taken with him from his office today.

He leafed through it a little; he had already marked important things with small sticky notes. Borderline disorders mostly occurred when deep emotional scars were found and people were unable to cope with one or more problems; however, Ivar didn't look like the typical borderliner. His arms weren't severely cut, and there were hardly any other scars. At least no visible ones...

But Heahmund knew that this disease was expressed differently, because not all borderline patients cut themselves. There were other means of giving shape to the pain. Some burned themselves on hot stovetops, some cut hidden areas, some hurt themselves from pressing, squeezing or choking. Others, in turn, choked their pain in a pillow and held their breath until it hurt; others in turn starved themselves to death in agony. Psychology and the human soul were just too complex to just “start from”.

_"Please, make the pain stop."_

Ivar’s voice tore itself so suddenly into Heahmund’s memory that it almost startled him; no, there had to be more to Ivar Lothbrok. And Heahmund would find out if he was just an extremely talented actor or an extremely troubled and hurt boy.

The weather had changed.

Thick, wide drops of rain gathered on Heahmund’s window in the office; the rain pelted coldly against the pane, and the dark gray of the sky made even the warm lamp in the office look milky and sad.

It was not a nice day for a serious conversation with a two-time young murderer, and Heahmund had a faint feeling that the gray weather would depress the mood of the conversation with Ivar today.

Susan had put the files on his desk before he came - the files about Ivar’s family.

Heahmund had only roughly scanned them, but a first suspicion emerged.

His father, Ragnar Lothbrok, was not unknown to the police. He was known for several assaults and sedition, and also for his antics during his drinking bout. The police had often been guests at the Lothbrok house.

Ivar had four siblings, three of whom had been in prison before. Björn, the oldest, had been imprisoned for brawls and attempted manslaughter for two and a half years now; his other brother, Hvitserk, for drug addiction and theft. Sigurd had also been in prison, if only in juvenile detention. Heahmund suspected that there must be a trauma here in the past or even in the present, which Ivar could have driven to the act.

"Dr. Meyers?” Susan's voice tore him from his thoughts; his gray eyes fixed on her immediately, and she smiled slightly.

"Excuse me. Thanks for the files, by the way.", he said.

"No problem. He'll be here soon, I just wanted to tell you that."

"Thank you, Susan."

She nodded slightly; for a moment she stood around indecisively in the doorway, as if she had wanted to say something else, but then she turned around and went to her seat. Heahmund did not pay much attention to this behavior; he knew why she was reacting this way.

Moments later, Ivar was brought in the same way as last time; the two guards carried him by his upper arms and placed him roughly in the padded chair; Ivar only grumbled slightly, and his blue eyes followed the guards out of the room. Then he ran his hands through his hair with a soft motion and looked over at Heahmund, who was smiling at him friendly as always.

“Hello, Ivar. Welcome to our second session. How are you today?"

Ivar frowned slightly; his bright eyes looked slightly transfigured today, as Heahmund had already suspected. Today he was wearing one of the long-sleeved, white cotton shirts, and the light scent of fresh laundry was again softly in Heahmund’s nose. He was still looking at the boy, who hadn't spoken up yet; only after he had settled a little and ran his hand through his dark hair again, Ivar answered quietly.

"Hello, doctor. Black suits you much better than white."

Heahmund smiled slightly; he glanced down at himself, for today he was wearing one of his black shirts; he seldom dressed like the other doctors in this institute because he felt it didn't remind patients too much of the fact that they were talking to a psychologist here.

“Thank you, that's very nice of you. But that wasn't my question."

Ivar bit his lower lip and looked away; the bright eyes drifted down to his handcuffed hands and lingered there.

"Not so good today, I don't know." Ivar mumbled softly; it was one of the sharp canine teeth that chewed on the full, soft-looking lower lip from then on. There was a slight pallor in the boy's face, and Heahmund cleared his throat slightly.

"Why not? Is it because of the weather?”, Heahmund said softly; he nodded towards the window with a slight movement; the thick drops had grown in number, and the gentle pattering in the silence echoed through the room almost like a melody. Ivar followed the psychologist's gaze; his blue eyes narrowed slightly, but after a moment he returned his gaze to his hands.

“No, the weather is nice. I like rain, you know. It feels good. Most people screw up their faces when they run through the rain. But I usually always stop and let it run over my face. But it just doesn't work in here. Besides, there are bars in front of my window.“, Ivar answered quietly; his voice was still hoarse, as if he had screamed not so long ago.

Heahmund wrote something down for a moment; he really wanted to see where Ivar was staying. One shouldn't always believe rumors. He looked at the boy again; a slight goosebump was sent over his arms, very soft, when he thought of the pictures from the file, on which Ivar looked like a bloodthirsty, murderous monster. So full of hatred and malice; and here, here he looked so fragile, so soft.

“I don't hear that often either, can you believe it? Even I don't like the rain."

“Then you have never felt rain if you haven't had water on your skin for a long time. It's like a gift.” Ivar’s eyes fixed on him; they looked at each other for a moment, then Heahmund put down his pen and folded his hands on his table.

“It’s strange when you say such words, you almost sound like a poet. That sounds very different to me than the words you wrote there in this chat.”, Heahmund let his voice sound soft, not like a reproach. But he had to start somewhere. And it was too early for the past. He first had to go deep.

Ivar’s hands clenched slightly; the handcuffs clinked minimally, and yet Heahmund did not escape the impulse from Ivar’s fingers. He kept his eyes fixed on the boy, even if the latter stubbornly looked to the side. His throat moved; Ivar swallowed lightly.

"I have no idea what chat you're talking about," he said dryly, but not harshly. He looked rather absent. However, from the small tendon that was showing on his neck, Heahmund could see that his body was tensing.

“I think you know that very well, Ivar. I am not here to blame you for your words. But I need to know why you did such a thing. Do you know what you've done?"

Another swallow went down Ivar's throat, and the small, fine tendon on his neck tightened. A soft exhalation escaped the young body, and the handcuffs clinked slightly again.

"I haven't done anything, why do you keep saying this, Doctor?" Ivar uttered, almost strained; he raised a hand to his face and examined his index finger briefly; then he began to chew lightly on his fingernail, very soft.

“Ivar, please look at me. Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."

The boy looked incredibly fragile and unstable when, after a few breaths, he finally turned to Heahmund.

He let go of the index finger; the hands went back to his lap, very softly, and yet Ivar easily began to bob one foot up and down.

But his blue eyes finally found Heahmund’s.

Heahmund tried everything to appear calm and serene, and to exude enough calm that Ivar could feel it. But he saw that he had found a sore, fragile point. The only strange thing was that Ivar didn't seem as confident as he had done in the murder.

“Take a deep breath, okay? Nobody in this room will harm you, especially since I'm the only one here. You are safe here. I don't call the police just because you tell me something."

Ivar’s eyes flickered briefly to every corner of the room; Heahmund put on a slight smile.

"No cameras," he said softly, and at these words Ivar's eyes met him with a nervous curiosity. Heahmund had to admit that the look was extremely intense and left a soft tingling sensation on the skin of the neck. If only briefly. _He had slept too little_.

"Ivar, do you know what you did?" Heahmund asked again; Ivar’s eyebrows suddenly contracted, but not from anger. It was much more sudden sadness that darkened his features, and he looked away from his eyes again.

His handcuffs clinked softly because he was tapping his foot harder, as if he were terribly nervous. The small tendon on the neck reappeared, and suddenly it seemed as if Ivar was trying with all his might to swallow something. As if he was sick.

Heahmund did not let himself be hindered by this small, approaching outbreak; he knew that the only way to get an honest answer was if he kept digging. Since Ivar was not on medication until this day, Heahmund knew he was unstable; the way he reacted showed that he was torn inside. That something was fighting inside of him.

"She bled like a pig, you had writt-" Heahmund began, but a sudden sob interrupted his words; Ivar had leaned forward in a fit of defiance and tried to cover his ears; his hands pressed almost convulsively against his temples and ears, and the rocking of one foot had passed into both legs. He was trembling badly; Heahmund could clearly see his body cramping slightly.

Something he hadn't expected.

"Stop it," Ivar hissed, accompanied by another sob; Heahmund struggled for a moment, knowing that he had to stay strictly behind the table. But he also knew, very well, how important it was to solve this case.

So, he got up with one sure movement and walked around the desk; his hands cupped Ivar’s wrists in one smooth motion, and the boy stopped immediately. The tremor in the legs disappeared as quickly as it had come; Ivar loosened the position of his body only slightly, and his hands slowly sank again.

Blue eyes stared at him, as shocked as if Heahmund had grown a second head.

"It’s all good. I'm so sorry. Ivar, listen to me. It is extremely important that you help me. Because you know what? I'm a doctor, but I can't do this without your help. This case can only be settled with your help.” Heahmund chosed gentle words; he almost felt as if he were talking to a child, but the pitch of the voice and the words seemed to be pulling. Because Ivar’s eyes narrowed slightly, even if the astonishment and shock did not disappear from them.

"How can I help you? I have nothing to do with it.”, Ivar mumbled quietly. His wrists were warm; Heahmund only now noticed that he was still holding them, so he let go of them gently. He had kneeled at Ivar’s eye level, and the smell of fresh cotton was now even stronger.

Heahmund smiled slightly; all of a sudden, however, like a flash of inspiration, he remembered one of his university lessons several years ago. It was like a warm shock that ran through his body - the idea ran through his limbs like tingling needles. He had to try something.

“Maybe you have nothing to do with it, Ivar. I believe you when you tell me. But... and now please be completely honest with me - you know who it was, don't you?”, Heahmund said gently; he could see the tendon on Ivar’s neck briefly again, but the boy swallowed it again.

He stared at Heahmund; they were still at eye level, and Heahmund didn't know if it was good to be so close to the boy; but his hands were handcuffed. And he almost looked like paralyzed.

After what felt like an eternity, Ivar swallowed again; his blue eyes flickered slightly, and then he said in an infinitely low tone: "Yes."

Heahmund closed his eyes for a moment; he let out a short breath, then stood up and slowly sat down on his office chair again. His head pounded.

When he looked back at Ivar, the boy was still staring at him, puzzled; the blue eyes were fixed on him so hard that Heahmund felt almost eerie. He pushed the thought of yesterday's photos away and met the boy's gaze.

"How do you know it wasn't me?" Ivar croaked softly; Heahmund's mouth twitched. _Play along with the game_ , he reminded himself inside. His veins throbbed. He had found a lead.

"I'm a doctor, I can find out something like that." Heahmund answered neutrally; he didn't want any of his inner excitement to show through. Under no circumstance. It could destroy all success.

At least the success he hoped for thanks to his flash of inspiration...

Ivar lowered his eyes to the desk for the first time; his lips were slightly parted, but his body looked slightly more relaxed than before.

"You know, Doctor... if you sleep in the shadows all your life and then you suddenly wake up... you become like _him_."

"Like who?" Heahmund asked slowly; his gray eyes never left the boy alone for a moment.

Ivar swallowed hard; he closed his eyes and ran his fingers with a sudden movement to the bridge of his nose violently. His brow furrowed and he let out a deep, much rougher-sounding hiss.

Heahmund had to swallow; intense tension shot through his body, because something was happening here. And basically, that was exactly what he wanted to see. Ivar was clearly mentally cracked, and there was more than superficial depression. He suspected it; but he had no proof. No proof for himself or for his first guess.

"Ivar..."

Another deep rumble sounded; Ivar had closed his eyes so tight it almost looked like deep lines were forming on the sides of his eyes. Heahmund waited; he saw that Ivar was clearly struggling with something. The arms had tensed slightly, he could see it through the light cotton shirt; and then something suddenly caught his eye.

"Ivar, what's that on your arm?" Heahmund mumbled neutrally; his gaze was fixed on the small tear on the right side of the arm where the fabric had been torn. And he thought he saw something there...

This sentence roused Ivar from his constant pose; blue eyes fixed on his sleeve, and a low exhalation told Heahmund that he himself was startled when he saw this. With one hasty movement, Ivar rolled up his sleeve as best as he could with the handcuffs on.

There was suddenly a choked gasp, and Ivar turned away with light tears in his eyes.

Heahmund got up again and walked around the table; he ignored Ivar’s violent twitch when he touched him. There was a deep, unclean cut on the arm; it almost looked as if it had come from a blunt object, rammed forcefully into the skin to get as deep as possible. It wasn't old; Heahmund did not touch the wound, but held onto Ivar’s upper arm.

"Was that you? With what did you do that?” Heahmund uttered; he tried to keep his gentle tone but didn't quite succeed. Normally, patients in the closed institution had no chance of harming themselves; especially not highly dangerous patients like Ivar was. And yet, here was the proof that he had something to hurt himself with.

Meanwhile, Ivar’s body had tensed up again; there was a twitch from his torso, and when Heahmund looked up, he saw that tears were pouring silently from his eyes.

“It wasn't me, I swear. He hurts me when I don't do what he says. Please help me.”, Ivar whimpered; Heahmund’s eyebrows pressed together from a slight feeling and he pulled the sleeve back down from Ivar’s shirt. Then he gently placed a hand on Ivar’s shoulder.

"Tonight, I'm going to give you something that will let you sleep well, okay?" he said softly; Ivar’s body was still twitching violently, but he nodded. The tears dripped onto his shirt; small gray dots formed where they landed.

With a soft sigh, Heahmund went back to the desk and left Ivar alone with his feelings for a moment; then he took his recipe pad out of his drawer and wrote something on it.

Ivar stopped sobbing at some point; he looked at Heahmund, who was still writing something. When Heahmund was done, he looked up and met Ivar’s eyes, which were still very red.

“I prescribed a benzodiazepine for you. It will make sure that you can sleep well tonight. Give this to the nurse I'm going to send you to. She will bandage your arm and we'll see each other again tomorrow.”, Heahmund said gently; he handed the note to the still slightly shaky Ivar, who looked at him first.

"No more nightmares?" he asked; the blue eyes rose and for a moment they just looked at each other. Then Heahmund smiled gently.

"No more nightmares."

"Thank you, doctor."

"With pleasure." Friendliness and understanding were the be-all and end-all in this job. And Heahmund's heart almost got a little warm when he saw Ivar put on a tiny, slightly crooked smile.

"I think I haven't slept through it in a long time." Ivar replied quietly; his fingers held the sheet of paper tightly.

"Tomorrow we'll meet again, Ivar, don't forget that."

"Of course not. You're the only person who doesn't look at me in disgust."

Heahmund hesitated at these words; he swallowed and put on a smile which he himself had given the name " _deaf smile_ "; a smile that should never show its core. Not in front of his patients.

"I told you I'm not your enemy here in this building."

With a barely noticeable movement he pressed the button under his table; the guards came in a few moments later. Ivar was still staring at the slip of paper in his hand, almost as if it was something important. Strange how happy some people were about a quiet night. Heahmund briefly told the men which nurse Ivar should be taken to.

When the guards roughly grabbed Ivar by the upper arms and pulled him up, Heahmund gave Ivar another quick nod.

"Goodbye, Ivar.", he said, but Ivar didn't answer. Heahmund only saw how he held the note in his hand with all his might.

With a deep sigh, Heahmund leaned his head against the back of his chair; the office suddenly felt like a prison.

He heard the office door open and he didn't need to lift his head to know who it was.

"Have you gotten more out of him?" The voice echoed over to him. Heahmund ran both hands over his face.

"No. The boy is terribly difficult to crack. I don't see through it yet. His fear looks absolutely real, but the pictures in the file don't lie. He was it. I wonder how long he can hold up this spectacle - or just keep his facade upright. He may also have dissociative amnesia. He - he seems to be talking about a second self, maybe he has something like an imaginary friend, or he's schizophrenic. Anyway, according to his own statement he didn’t commit the crime.", Heahmund explained weakly; he was tired, although the session had barely lasted an hour.

He rubbed his eyes wearily.

“He's not serious! There was another report about him on television today. It was him, everyone recognizes him in these pictures. They play these reports up and down, pixelated, every hour.” Susan replied; her tone was a little condescending, and Heahmund snorted slightly.

“This is just the media hype. After all, it’s a very heavy crime."

"Why do you think he surrendered? Did he want this hype?"

There was a moment of silence as Heahmund chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip; a thousand thoughts shot through his head. But least of all he could forget the look of those eyes. He had seen many glances; but this one looked so real. So real broken.

"I don’t know. Incidentally, I'll take the files home with me."

Susan nodded; she disappeared through the door while Heahmund sat there for a while and thought.

That afternoon he could hardly concentrate on his other cases; even with Axel Merrington, the necrophile, his thoughts always drifted back to Ivar’s case.

It was almost 1am when Heahmund sat back on his sofa with a harsh moan.

He had turned over dozens of books. About schizophrenia, related forms of excessive borderline disorder, and especially dissociative amnesia. He had compared these ideas and assumptions with Ivar’s statements from the first session - Ivar had mentioned that he had no memory of anything, that he hadn't been the murderer - _that he had simply woken up in the cell, handcuffed._

In particular, the fact that Ivar was speaking of another _him_ and almost had a breakdown, supported Heahmund’s assumption about a relationship with schizophrenia and conditional amnesia. _Triggered by a trauma..._

But what was this trauma that could turn a frail boy into a monster? What else did those deep blue eyes hide? Heahmund kept comparing the images of the crime with those he saw of Ivar in the session - and his suspicions grew, the more he thought about them.

The wound on his arm, it too was a sign of triggered amnesia. Maybe from a shock.

Heahmund chewed on his pen until the refill almost broke under his teeth; he was dealing here with something that certainly couldn't be solved easily.

_As if the devil himself had given him this riddle._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Benzodiazepines have an anxiolytic (anxiety-relieving), sedative (calming), muscle-relaxing and hypnotic (sleep-promoting to sleep-inducing) effect. Some benzodiazepines also have anticonvulsant properties and are therefore used as anti-epileptic drugs. Because of their central nervous effects, this group of substances is one of the psychoactive substances; some of their representatives are therefore used in medicine as psychotropic drugs.
> 
> *Dissociative amnesia  
> In dissociative amnesia, the person concerned completely or partially lacks memories of their past, v. a. stressful or traumatic events. Amnesia is far beyond normal forgetfulness, i. H. lasts longer or is more pronounced. However, the level of amnesia can vary over time. Memories can also mix and thus be falsified. The person concerned cannot then distinguish whether memories are true or not.
> 
> * Necrophilia: people that are addicted to dead bodies or parts of dead bodies. It can vary from just looking at corpses or even having sex with them.
> 
> *Schizophrenia or schizophrenic psychosis are mental illnesses with a similar symptom pattern that belong to the group of psychoses. In the acute stage of the disease, schizophrenic people experience a multitude of characteristic disorders that affect almost all areas of inner experience and behavior, such as perception, thinking, emotional and emotional life, will formation, psychomotor skills and drive. Often voices that are not actually present are heard.


	3. Page 3 - Say my name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much as always for your support and love! <3 I somehow feel like this is going to be the longest and deepest story I will ever write - maybe. :D Enjoy your saturday evening and see you next time! :)

* * *

Actually, or at least that's what Heahmund thought, when he braced himself with both hands on the sides of his head on the table in his kitchen and read the files on Ivar’s family - actually these files read like a dramatic movie.

With the decisive difference that this was bitter and cold reality.

With the many stories and fates that he had on the table and worked on every day, Heahmund's childhood always seemed like a motley paradise in which there was never any argument or resentment.

Ivar’s story was completely different. Heahmund had already noted down several pages, written them down, compared them with his many books. And it just never seemed to end. Ivar R. Lothbrok's life was like an endless odyssey.

[…] _We arrived at the Lothbroks' house at around 6:30 pm, me and my colleague M. Heathrow_ , it said according to the police report of April 7th, about a year ago. Heahmund pushed his glasses farther up his nose so that his tired eyes could read better; he was now holding the sheet of paper between his thumb and forefinger.

_When we rang the doorbell, Mrs. Aslaug Lothbrok opened the door for us. We noticed immediately that her eyes were teary; she still looked cold when she let us in without a greeting and a stiff nod._

_The commotion that had been reported came from the living room. When we entered the room, we first noticed the many bottles, there were innumerable. From quite a few drinking bouts, it seemed. Present in the room were Mr. Ragnar Lothbrok, and his sons Hvitserk A. Lothbrok and Ivar R. Lothbrok. Both boys looked intimidated, and my colleague discovered bruises on the face of the youngest of the family._

_Mr. Ragnar Lothbrok was in a very aggressive mood. When we asked him to put the bottle of beer down, he slammed it against a wall. His son Hvitserk had to avoid the bottle. When we asked him again to keep calm, Mr. Ragnar Lothbrok yelled at us._

_“Damn bull pigs, what are you doing here? Did my fucking wife let you in?"_

_We confirmed and asked Mr. Lothbrok for a moderate language and a calmer tone, otherwise we would take him with us._

_To which he replied that he did not intend to that. We explained to him that the neighbors called us because of the noise. Mr. Lothbrok seemed to goad this fact even further as he began to rant furiously at the neighbors._

_“Damn pigs! All wankers! Wait until I meet fat Louis on the street, I'll cut his damn head off! But at least he has sons who have achieved something and not such failures as my sons... What, Ivar? You heard right! You are a goddamn failure! Not useful for anything... "_

_When Mr Lothbrok tried to attack his youngest son, we arrested him and put him in the sobering cell for the night. The questioning of the family did not reveal any clues as no one commented. When asked about the injuries, the children said they had fallen._ _[...]_

There were still countless of these reports on file, and Heahmund didn't need to read through them all to find out what kind of family Ivar came from. It was the sad picture of so many families from these neighborhoods, of so many children, helplessly exposed to their fathers or sometimes even mothers. Ragnar Lothbrok's sons had all been over 20, and yet no one had apparently ever stood up to him.

With a low sigh, Heahmund ran his hand over his dark hair and put the sheet of paper back; Ivar’s complex inner brokenness came together more and more to form an overall picture. And despite this clarity, it was still not obvious to Heahmund _how_ the boy could have become a double murderer. Sure, there were clues in his past that suggested it - but violence and neglect only resulted in murder in the rarest of cases, rather it was theft or brawl. Heahmund doubted that this had developed into this precarious desire to kill.

In the sessions Ivar seemed too weak for that, too intelligent, far too tender of mind. It was obvious that he was in dire need of therapeutic and psychological help - but something was wrong. The routine deviated at one point, and that was the point where Ivar had become a murderer. And had laid a conscious trace of what he did. He had played a game with the authorities, a game with the police. And Heahmund saw something else in this cruel act - a terrible cry for help.

"Damn it," he snorted; meanwhile he had replaced his evening meal with a bottle of wine, just so as not to despair with a headache. He was missing one last piece of the puzzle, and without it he was groping in the dark. How should he start with the right questions, such as therapy or medication, if he did not know _what_ he was clearly dealing with?

Because the images of the fragile Ivar followed him home and into his sleep. The bright, painful eyes, the intense sadness. The tears and the physical weakness characterized by increasingly violent breakdowns. This gratitude for a good night's sleep.

Heahmund leaned back slightly in his chair and chewed thoughtfully on his pen, as always. He had already bitten through several mines. And sometimes he cursed the director of the institute for putting this task on him.

"Unbelievable that you even bother with it." Kathryn said harshly; she was poking around in her moussaka in the canteen while she was leafing through a magazine. Heahmund stared at her, puzzled.

“The boy needs help. Of course, that's no excuse for his behavior, but you'd have to see what a desperate state he is in when I have him in the session! He's a completely different person! Mentally completely unstable. And has cried so often."

Kathryn raised her eyebrows and looked piqued at Heahmund; she brought her fork to her mouth and sighed softly. "You already know _he's kidding_ you, right? He's just pretending. This guy should go straight to jail. I would have submitted the report long ago if I were you."

Heahmund snorted; although he wasn't that fond of food, he took a bite out of his sandwich.

“But you are not me. You don't see the complexity. He also shows affected disorders of his consciousness and could also have a severe borderline disorder. Explain one thing to me: how can a patient from the high-security wing injure himself? They don't even have a proper toothbrush in the room, they're made from damn rubber."

"He bit himself, maybe?"

“It was a deep cut, with a blunt object. The nurse said she has never seen anything like this before."

"She's not exactly the smartest, is she?" Kathryn sneered; she looked at Heahmund again, and when Heahmund took another bite, snorting and frustrated, she nudged him under the table with her feet.

“Hey, I just mean, Heahmund. Maybe you think too much into it just because he's a good actor! You know that intelligent people in particular tend to play a perfect game."

Heahmund went on chewing for a moment; his gaze was fixed on Kathryn’s magazine. _Lose weight in four weeks, great cake recipes on page 11_. What contradictions, he thought and pushed back his plate.

“I will follow up one more lead, and if that is nothing, then I will probably have to accept it. But I don't think it's just an act. This brokenness is just too perfect, I mean- " he broke off, and Kathryn smiled.

"Played too well, yes. I keep my fingers crossed that you find something useful, really. It wouldn't be your first, groundbreaking success. And after four weeks you won't be able to hold back in front of all the women.", she said, amused, and Heahmund got up; however, a slight grin graced his lips.

"As if that had ever interested me.", he smiled, and Kathryn playfully rolled her eyes.

“Charmer, through and through. Be glad that you have interesting cases, I can get back to Mrs. Fletcher to tell me about her 20 cats."

"Hm, have fun."

“And Heahmund - just lock that guy away. When I see the pictures on the news, I always feel sick."

The boy seemed silent as he sat in front of Heahmund’s desk again, his hands in the same handcuffs as always; he didn't seem as tired as the last few days, but Heahmund could tell from the gentle biting of his full lower lip that Ivar was deep in thought today.

When Heahmund clicked his pen and cleared his throat slightly, the boy looked up with his blue eyes. They looked transfigured, and Heahmund could see from the slightly drooping eyebrows that something was bothering Ivar. Nevertheless, he said nothing at first, he just returned the gaze of the actually very pretty eyes quietly and was silent.

And so, it was actually after a little while Ivar, who first gave a slight chuckle, and then nodded his head slightly towards Heahmund.

"You're wearing it again today, the perfume," he said softly; his voice wasn't quite as scratchy, not quite as battered as it had been in the previous two sessions. Yet Heahmund still did not understand how the permanent depression could linger on that face. It was almost like the same movie that he was watching for the third time; the expressions remained only in sad regions. Except for the one time Heahmund had prescribed the calming medication for him.

Heahmund met the boy's gaze for a moment; then he folded his hands on the tabletop and put on a soft smile.

“You have a pretty good nose, I noticed that already the first time. Even if it reminded you of a theft,” he said cheerfully; Ivar didn't seem to mind the comparison with his past, for he just shrugged his shoulders gently; the handcuffs clinked slightly.

“It smells very good. I like nice smells, you know?” Ivar bit his full lower lip a little after these words; his eyebrows twitched slightly. “And you're wearing a sweater today. I find that very amusing."

Heahmund looked down at his own body for a moment; in fact, today he was wearing a black sweater, a light one like a sweatshirt. He liked the loose clothing very much, and inside he was happy - because noticing a relaxed atmosphere often led patients to relax and Heahmund was able to approach them more specifically. He had to lie to himself as he internally blamed himself for doing it on purpose.

"What is amusing about a sweater?"

"The other doctors don't wear them, not even the younger ones," Ivar replied; his blue eyes brushed from Heahmund’s face to his sweater collar. They lingered there for a few seconds before Heahmund leaned back slightly with a smile.

"You've seen a lot of doctors since you've been here, haven't you?"

Ivar hesitated slightly; for a moment he seemed to quarrel with something inside, but then he shook his head softly. The hair, which he had combed back with a little water today, it seemed, was moving gently.

“No, they… they avoid my room. But I can see them through the window in the door. Sometimes I can also hear them talking."

"Do you understand what they're saying?" Heahmund asked softly; he had noticed how Ivar’s features had changed slightly. It was minimal - but there was a trace of pain.

"No." Ivar replied quietly, but Heahmund knew he was lying. He made a few notes; then he slid closer to the desk again and let out a light breath.

“Today I want to talk to you about an issue that we haven't really addressed yet. We talked about it briefly in the first session, but then broke off because you weren't feeling well. Do you remember?” Heahmund made his voice seem very soft again, because he didn't want to destroy the relaxed atmosphere. But Ivar suddenly became a little restless. His right hand clutched the rest of the seat, and the handcuffs moved a little.

"I don't want to talk about it, please doctor."

“But we have to. I am really sorry, Ivar. But we have to work through certain topics. Only then I can help you! If you help out, I can give you a medicine that might work out for you."

Ivar raised his eyebrows slightly; his expression looked curious, even if the slightly sad gesture did not disappear from the line of the eyebrows. "Really?" he asked, and Heahmund nodded.

“Can you make the... the...- the pain go away? I have constant headaches. It hurts so bad. Today too… My head feels like it's going to burst.”, Ivar muttered; Heahmund was pleased that the boy sank back a little in the chair and noted the severe headache on his notes.

"Of course. I will give you something after the session. So, Ivar - tell me something about your father."

Ivar paused for a moment; the pose he had just assumed stiffened immediately, and the boy slid to the edge of the upholstered chair with an uneasy movement. "About-... About my...?" he let out; the eyebrows drew together violently, and Ivar’s lips parted very slightly. The look in the blue eyes was incredibly stressful.

“Yes, about your father. I got a few files and I saw that your relationship wasn't always the best. Maybe that's why some bad things in your life have happened.” Heahmund felt the tension build up in his body. It was a highly sensitive topic that he brought up here - and yet he had to find a point to crack the boy. He just had to find a trail with which he could at least look a little into the deep psyche of this young man.

Ivar swallowed; his hands began fiddling with the upholstery of the chair, aimlessly, even if he didn't take his eyes off Heahmund.

“I - I can't. Let me go. Please.”, Ivar uttered softly; his eyes looked desperate, but Heahmund decided he had to work harder now. He had no choice. Time was working against him.

"Do you think that you might have forgotten something because it wasn't always so nice at home?" Heahmund asked slowly; he clutched his pen tighter when he saw Ivar lean forward slightly.

"I ..." he began, but his head sank, and he ran both hands to the sides of his head; his fingers blindly ran into his hair, tugged lightly, and he obviously tried to cover his ears again.

It hurt Heahmund to see that. And he hated those moments when he had to become a monster and cut deep wounds in other people. But he had no choice. Something deep inside him knew something was terribly wrong with Ivar, and he was dying to help. If the world saw this boy as a monster, then _he_ didn't have to.

A faint clink of the handcuffs indicated that Ivar had begun to rock his body back and forth slightly, over and over, in a slightly disturbed rhythm.

"Ivar, please answer me." Heahmund said calmly, but Ivar only let out a soft, tortured gasp. He had his eyes shut tight, his head tucked between his arms, still trying to cover his ears with convulsive firmness. Heahmund saw the exertion of strength clearly in the fine, white furrows on the back of his hand, and the tendon on his neck showed up again.

"Stop it..." Ivar whimpered, and Heahmund swallowed. But he had to go on, he just had to.

"The R in your second name - you have his name, don't you?" Heahmund was almost startled when the rocking of the body suddenly stopped out of nowhere; the fingers and hands were still cramped, and yet the entire body had come to a standstill.

An oppressive, almost disgusting silence ensued, which thundered in Heahmund's ears himself; he had let go of his pen and his eyes were fixed on the boy in front of him.

_It was a start. There was finally a track to work with._

It looked a little creepy how the boy sat so endlessly still in his chair, his hands still pressed to his ears; next to the tendon on the neck, which Heahmund had noticed the last time, suddenly a fine, ever thicker vein throbbed. Heahmund observed this process for a moment; he was so fascinated by this change that it didn't occur to him to pick up the pen again.

He knew that many veins were associated with headaches - especially in the neck and throat area. They carried pain through the body like a roller coaster. Heahmund knew that this pain could also be related to a mental illness. The amnesia could possibly have been triggered by them...

Heahmund swallowed; then he cleared his throat slightly.

"The name R in your name, it stands for Ragnar."

Heahmund let out a gasp, because Ivar's head went up so suddenly and jerkily - it had been such a quick and violent movement that Heahmund had not escaped even the soft cracking sound that Ivar’s neck had made; but when he looked into the boy's face, he was almost startled.

_This wasn't normal._

With a brief movement, Heahmund passed his eyes, barely visible - _damn it, why didn't he have his glasses with him?_ \- and then he opened his mouth slightly just to close it again.

Ivar's eyes had changed.

The otherwise soft, light blue had darkened, if hardly visible; but Heahmund couldn't explain it otherwise. The light in this room hadn't changed, definitely not, and yet the eyes were different. The whole face looked different because it was no longer sad.

No more trace of sadness or softness.

It was a hard, cold face that kept staring at Heahmund; the corners of his mouth were pushed down slightly, and the eyebrows were filled with anger. Violent, palpable anger. And with one swallow, Heahmund knew what was going on.

He knew that face. It had stared at him from the files and the news so many times.

Heahmund shivered heavily when he met the gaze; there was no longer any trace of the shy reserve. Not a single spark.

The eyes kept staring at him, even when Heahmund moved a little in his chair - the cold eyes seemed to follow him.

"Ivar you... Are you okay?" Heahmund began.

It almost knocked him off his chair when he received a loud, rasping, mocking answer.

“Shut up your goddamn fucking mouth. _Is everything okay?_ Oh fuck, you doctors are really the fucking last bitches on this planet.” Nothing but cold could be found in the voice; it wasn't the voice Heahmund had greeted today. The blue eyes were still staring at him, and there was an almost challenging nature about it.

Heahmund's mouth fell open; he adjusted a little and then drew his eyebrows slightly together. There was seldom anything that amazed him - but this here was incredibly creepy.

"I beg your pardon? That - what the...” Heahmund uttered, but Ivar interrupted him.

“Shut up, I've told you before. And don't you dare to repeat this son of a bitc -"

“What, you mean your father Ragnar? Oh, I knew this was coming. Amazing... is he the reason you became like this?” Heahmund said; he tried to stay calm. And above all not to be provoked by these rude words. _This was unique._

At the word _Ragnar_ Ivar stood up so suddenly that Heahmund was startled again; he knew it could be dangerous for the first time. But he needed to know if what immediately shot in his head was right.

Ivar raised his chin provocatively - and after another look from Heahmund, he slapped both hands on the desk so suddenly and hard that it really banged.

“You dare to put that name in your mouth, you filthy fucking doctor? I'll tell you what - I'll tear your damn throat out if you say that name again." Ivar’s voice was firm, firm and rough and somehow deeper. He looked almost like a different person; even if Heahmund knew perfectly well that physically no body could change at once. But the contrast was so harsh that he felt like he was facing another person.

A violent surge of heat rose through Heahmund's entire body; that was exactly what he wanted to see. _This was exactly what he had been waiting for._ He remembered exactly how he had lifted the cover of the file the first session to compare the faces because Ivar had seemed so fragile to him. And now he knew why it was like this.

The two men stared at each other; Ivar’s body had tightened violently and his hands on the desk were clenched into solid fists. He had bared his teeth - if they had previously appeared gentle to Heahmund, they now looked threatening. The blue eyes never let go, not even when Heahmund stood up with a slow movement as well and rested his hands on his side of the table as well. He licked his lips briefly and tried to keep calm under Ivar’s murderous gaze - he had to be strong now. Under no circumstances was he allowed to reveal his inner excitement to the outside world, it could destroy the entire success.

"I know who you are." Heahmund began softly; he saw the fingers of Ivar’s hand curl slightly on the table and he let out a strained breath; but the look never let go of him.

"Oh, do you know that? Have you read that in your fucking little files too?” With a sudden movement, Ivar roughly pushed the file that was on the table off it; the leaves fluttered to the ground and the images in them scattered. But Ivar’s eyes stayed on Heahmund.

Heahmund put on a slight, snorting smile. He had only seen the flying file briefly. Because something in him told him more than insistently that he shouldn't let this man out of his sight now. With an almost creeping, barely noticeable movement, Heahmund’s hand slid closer to the edge of the table on his side.

“You did that, didn't you? All this bloodbath, all this... – you set your best friend on fire just because he wanted to go to the police..."

There was a loud, nasal purr; Ivar turned his head slightly to the ceiling and let out a deep, whispering laugh that only stopped when his dark eyes turned back to Heahmund.

“A wonderful thing, the fire, isn't it? Dr.-fucking-knows-everything. You don't know a shit about me. What can you do? Leaf through books a bit and think you read something about the world in them?”, Ivar hissed at him violently; Heahmund had to swallow, and his finger slipped a little more towards the edge of the table.

But he put on a crooked grin.

"Was that a confession?" he said, and Ivar laughed bitterly.

“A confession? An imposition. You won't get a word from me, you filthy bastard.” Ivar hissed deeply.

Heahmund pretended to move back a little; in reality, however, he slipped one hand under the table until his fingertip touched the gentle curve of the emergency button. But he didn't squeeze it yet.

At least Ivar was still handcuffed.

They continued to stare at each other for a moment before Heahmund gave Ivar a slight nod. He could feel how sweaty his fingers were with excitement - but he had to take the chance before this escalated.

"You're not very friendly right now, are you? But that doesn't matter. Listen, we can sit down comfortably and talk a little - like we always do. There are no police and no cameras here. I think we have a lot to say to each other."

Ivar’s dark eyes flashed dangerously, and he licked his lips briefly. His gaze stayed like a predator on Heahmund’s chest, which unfortunately could not protect itself from the violent up and down. For a moment, Ivar stared at his chest as it rose and fell, over and over again - until his sharp eyes returned to Heahmund’s face.

"Have you ever tasted blood, Doctor?" Ivar whispered darkly. His hands clenched into fierce fists, and before Heahmund could say anything, Ivar made a powerful leap forward across the table and tried to go to his throat.

Thanks to his tumult and the happy coincidence that he had his hand on the button beforehand, Heahmund had just managed to press it; before a more than violent pressure hit his throat, the clink of tight handcuffs in his ears. They both fell to the ground, so violent was the force that rained down on him.

Ivar had just pressed his thumb into Heahmund’s neck when the guards came in and had to pull Ivar up with brute force. Heahmund turned his head away briefly when a seldom used weapon came into play; it was only two milliseconds before one heard the violent gasping and heavy twitching of a body on the floor that had just had a few hundred volts of electricity blown through his veins. The stun guns were only rarely used.

When Heahmund lifted his head again, Ivar was passed out and half-deaf between the guards who were lifting him up.

“Well, Doctor, now you had to experience this as well. He behaves like that very often, especially at night. Are you injured?”, one of the guards tossed at him worriedly; Heahmund swallowed briefly but shook his head. The shock of what had just happened was still deep in his bones, but he tried not to let it show through.

“No, I'm fine. But it's good that this had happened now. Now I can work on what medication to give him. And thank you for being there so quickly."

"No problem. Should we maybe be there, next time?"

Heahmund smiled slightly.

“No, that won't be necessary. I provoked this outbreak myself today, it's all good."

The guards carried the passed-out Ivar out of the room and Heahmund stared after them; a slight shiver crept through his veins when he saw the feet of Ivar, how they were dragged almost lifelessly behind his body.

But in the next few minutes a heavy rush of adrenaline rushed through his veins so violently that he even got rid of the shocked Susan standing in the door - he needed rest now. Because finally, _finally_ , he knew what he might be dealing with.

With hectic fingers he searched his bookshelf, humming softly over and over: "Where is it, damn it..." His hands ran over all the book spines until he finally found what he was looking for: an extremely thick book in the far back corner. Because Heahmund had never needed it before.

But his thought the other day from one of his college sessions at the time had opened his eyes.

When Heahmund pulled the book off the shelf and carefully raised it in front of his face, he swallowed lightly. Because he would never have thought that such a case would land on his desk one day.

_Dissociative Identity Disorder - when several identities live in one body._

It could only be like that - because nobody could play something like that, which had just happened here.

And his father’s name had triggered this outbreak, had triggered the second identity in Ivar. Now the question was: what the hell had happened to this young man, that his body had had to create such a severe mental illness? What had happened to Ivar, that made his body endure what seemed to be such a powerful, tearing inner struggle that a part of himself had split off to endure fears?

One thing was clear: his father Ragnar was the key to the second identity. And it was also the key to finding out why it had come to this... Heahmund knew one thing: only the bitterest and most evil things in this world could trigger such a disorder, which is estimated to affect only 1.5% of people worldwide.

_And it wasn't slaps in the face that caused this disease..._

Plus, most importantly, Ivar had committed the murders, at least the part of him that had just attacked him with a deadly blue in his eyes and a raging rage in his heart.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Dissociative identity disorder (DIS) is characterized by the fact that different personality states (dissociative identities) alternately take control of a person's thinking, feeling and acting. These identities have their own character traits, behaviors, abilities, perception and thought patterns. In addition, there are memory gaps for events or personal information that can no longer be explained by ordinary forgetfulness.   
> The condition formerly known as multiple personality disorder (MP / MPS) should not be confused with personality disorders or psychotic disorders; and is usually accompanied by other psychological symptoms. Deviations from typical brain development due to extremely traumatic experiences during early childhood are suspected to be the cause. Corresponding functional and anatomical changes in the brain have now been proven many times over by statistical evaluations in those affected in their adulthood.

**Author's Note:**

> *The lobotomy is a neurosurgical operation in which the nerve tracts between the thalamus and frontal lobe as well as parts of the gray matter are severed (denervation).   
> It was originally used to eliminate pain and in extremely severe cases of mental illness, such as psychosis and depression with severe restlessness. As a result of the lobotomy, a personality change occurs with a disruption of drive and emotionality.*


End file.
